


Death and a Funeral

by Jeminy3



Series: Death and a Funeral [1]
Category: The LEGO Movie (2014)
Genre: F/M, Ghosts, Monsters, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-02 08:28:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2806061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeminy3/pseuds/Jeminy3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr post: http://jeminy3.tumblr.com/post/107057301393/death-and-a-funeral-part-1</p><p>A while ago, I started writing a couple drabbles about Ghost Emmet having a funeral post-movie adventures. Here’s the first one. May be part of a series.</p><p>Features: lots of death mentions, ghost physics, zombie wyldstyle, a bit of black humor</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death and a Funeral

He does his best to fill in the paperwork - date of birth, names of family, donation status, the works - but everything's written in past tense, littered with words like "passed" and "deceased".  He tries his best to skim over them, but his eyes can't help catching on them, and when they do his chest tightens a little and the pen falls through his fingers, and he has to recollect himself a little so he can hold it again. He keeps at it, but it's slow going and it's wearing him down little by little. He's starting to have trouble feeling the chair he's sitting in.

"Emmet?"

A voice calls from behind him - soft, feminine, but sort of raspy. He turns in his seat to meet a pair of mismatched eyes - Wyldstyle. Or, Lucy, actually. It's only recently she'd remembered that was her living name. He greets her with it, and her dark, cracked lips curl into a smile in response.

"You should take a break. I can take care of these for you." She nods down towards the papers on the desk, standing over him with a hand gripping the chair head.

Emmet shakes his head in retort. "No no, I'm almost done, see-" He tries to gesture toward the paperwork, causing his already shaky focus to break again and the pen to clatter onto the surface of the desk. He grabs for it, but his hand phases through it - he tries a few more times, but the pen just slides around a bit at best. He sighs in defeat.

"See? Told you." Lucy smirks, pushing strands of dry, black hair out of her face, showing more of the pale, greenish skin there. She pulls the chair out from under him nonchalantly. He doesn't fall. Just floats there, sitting in midair. He stares into his lap, his face contorting with frustration and fading solidity.

"Shoot..." he mutters under his lack-of-breath.

"It's okay, babe. You've done more than enough." The dead girl leans down to him, planting her lips on his cheek - it's like trying to kiss soft, half-frozen gelatin, but he feels it, color spotting his cheeks.

"Not anyone can plan their own funeral, y'know." She says it with a smirk but the softness in her eyes betrays the expression. Emmet chuckles in response. "Heh. Guess not."

He's almost transparent by now, and has started drifting toward the ceiling. He surrenders to it, pushing himself up and away from the desk, hovering above it contentedly. Lucy replaces him on the chair, plopping into it haphazardly and scooting herself toward the desk. She has significantly better luck with the pen - boney digits and bits of muscle are all that's left of her right hand, but the padded glove she wears makes up for it, and they're good and solid.

"Just tell me what to write here. What's your mom's name again?"

"Doris. Doris Brickowski," says Emmet, laying on his stomach in midair, watching her with his chin in his hands. "I hope she's doing alright."

"Oh, she will be. You're still here, after all. Sort of."


End file.
